Diary of an Ugly Duckling (23 page)

to tell you, I’m very, very excited about it. Both of us,

right, Dr. Koch?”

Dr. Koch muttered something that sounded like

an affirmative and took a loud slurp of coffee, star-

ing first at Audra, then toward the cameras.

“Because of the variety of procedures to be per-

formed, we’ve decided to stretch them out over sev-

eral days. We’ll begin with the liposuction. First I

have to tell you how pleased we are with your

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Karyn Langhorne

weight loss and”— he turned toward the cameras a

little, as though offering his next comment specifi-

cally for their benefit—“with the restructuring

we’ll perform surgically, when you lose the remain-

ing weight after the procedure, you should see

some dramatic changes in the shape of your body.”

He nodded a bit as though satisfied with himself,

grinned big and fixed his attention fully on Audra

again. “We’ll do the legs, tummy and hips first.

Dr. Koch will perform that surgery. Then the fol-

lowing day, he’ll begin work on the breasts and up-

per arms. Then finally, we’ll do the face: nose, chin,

cheekbones, eyes.” He stretched a forefinger lov-

ingly toward her face, as though already imagining

the finished project. “You’ll be under general anes-

thesia for each procedure and there will be some

risks associated with the process, you understand.

But there are greater risks with trying to perform

this many complex procedures simultaneously, so

all in all, we think breaking the surgery into seg-

ments is the smartest protocol, isn’t that right,

Koch?”

Another grunt.

“In all the procedures, we’ll work to disguise

any scarring that might occur by working with the

natural folds of the skin. We’re counting on your

continuing . . . uh . . . therapies . . . with Dr. Jamison

to further prevent any other dark scarring in the

process, but it’s still a risk. Now, do you have any

questions for us?”

Audra blinked at them.
Three days of surgeries.

Three days under the knife . . .

“You want to do three separate surgeries . . . in

DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING

189

three days,” she repeated slowly.

Dr. Bremmar nodded. “Actually, we’ll do several

different surgeries on each of the days. But basically,

that’s right. But don’t worry. We’ve done this sort of

thing before. Not often, of course. But given the time

constraints of the show—”

It sounded like a hustle, a con. It sounded like

something an inmate would say to shift responsibil-

ity or conceal the truth. An inmate . . . or a child.

“How long would you take to do that much sur-

gery if there were no . . . time constraints?”

Dr. Bremmar’s smile slipped. “Uh . . . well . . . it

would vary, depending on the patient and schedul-

ing and uh . . .”

“I’d wait at least six months. If there were no show.

But like he said, we’ve done it before. With good re-

sults,” Dr. Koch interjected in a flat monotone of a

voice, then took another sip of his coffee and looked

at them as though he’d never spoken at all.

“Very good results,” Dr. Bremmar seconded.

“I’m sure,” Audra murmured.

“Of course, there’s greater patient discomfort

when multiple surgeries are performed in quick suc-

cession—” Dr. Koch began.

“Sometimes,” Dr. Bremmar corrected, as though

this were an important distinction.

“Sometimes,” Dr. Koch agreed.

“Discomfort, huh?” Audra rolled her eyes.

“Sometimes, huh?” She shook her head. “Come on,

guys. You can’t kid a kidder, all right? What you’re

really saying is that this is going to hurt like hell,

right?”

The two doctors exchanged a glance, and Audra

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Karyn Langhorne

waited, expecting their insistent denial. But to her

surprise, Dr. Koch broke into a deep-throated laugh

and Dr. Bremmar’s ubiquitous smile spread wider

across his face.

“Pretty much,” Dr. Koch said.

“You betcha,” Dr. Bremmar agreed. “Any other

questions?”

“I wasn’t expecting you.” Audra held the door

open wider so that Shamiyah could enter the small

apartment. It had to be close to midnight, and in-

stead of being shocked or disturbed by the sound

of the doorbell, Audra felt an unexpected relief.

She was used to the noise of life in an apartment

filled with the drama that was her mother. By com-

parison this space was lonely, empty. “I was just

considering shutting off the TV and going to

bed—”

“Sorry. This won’t take long.” Shamiyah sank

onto the foot of the bed and lay back, kicking off her

strappy black sandals with a sigh. “That feels good.

I’m beat, I tell you,
beat
.”

“But you came by just to see how your favorite

Ugly Duckling was adjusting?” Audra lay the back

of her hand against her forehead and gave her a

sappy, Hollywood diva-style sigh. “How touch-

ing.”

“Well . . . not exactly,” she said, suppressing a

yawn. “I spent the day putting together another

Ugly Duckling episode. Camilla just finished view-

ing it. She hates it. Says it’s all wrong . . . lacks

drama and interest.” She sighed. “So I’ll have to re-

DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING

191

edit the sequences tomorrow. Put in a bunch of stuff

about the rape—”

“The woman was raped?”

Shamiyah nodded. “Yep. She’s kinda pitiful,

actually,” she said sounding almost casual in her fa-

tigue. “But she had a beautiful Reveal.” Her mouth

stretched wide as she bit back another yawn. “God,

I’m tired,” she mumbled. “Camilla’s a real slave

driver.”

“Slave driver?” Audra shook her head. “Honey,

that woman sounds like a first-class bitch to me.”

“No doubt.” Shamiyah sat up. “But she’s also the

best at what she does. She created this show out of

nothing, found the backers, got it on the air. That’s

not easy.” A bit of ambition glinted in Shamiyah’s

weary eyes. “I intend to learn everything there is to

learn from her. But that’s not why I came to see

you.” She focused on Audra, suddenly alert. “I saw

the tape from your session with Dr. Goddard to-

day.” Her eyebrows shot heavenward. “You were

awfully coy. Why didn’t you tell her anything?”

“Tell her anything?” Audra frowned. “Like

what?”

Shamiyah frowned. “Don’t play that with me, Au-

dra,” she snapped, in a hard, cold voice Audra

wasn’t used to hearing come from her mouth. “You

know I need that footage.”

“Footage? What footage?” she asked. “Remember

me, Shamiyah? Audra from the golden days of film?

I don’t speak TV.”

Shamiyah did not appear amused. “The stuff you

said on your audition tape,” she said impatiently.

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Karyn Langhorne

“About what your father said. About the stuff the in-

mates call you at that prison. About what that girl—

your friend Bradshaw’s daughter—what she told

you. All of it. I want that footage for the actual

episode. I
need
it.”

Audra waved her comments away. “I’m not com-

fortable talking to the doc about that stuff.”

“Why? You’ve got something against psychia-

trists? Don’t like shrinks?”

“I’ve got no problem with psychiatry—”

“But you think you don’t need one, is that it?

Because—”

“I might need one,” Audra muttered. “My mother

certainly thinks so . . . but then, she’s a fine one to

talk.” She lifted her fingers to her face as though

holding an imaginary cigar. “Takes one to know

one,” she offered in her best Groucho Marx imita-

tion. “Right?”

Shamiyah must not have ever heard of him, be-

cause she didn’t even smile. “I need that footage,

Audra,” she repeated in a voice sharp as steel.

“You’ve already got it,” Audra reminded her.

“Like you said. On the audition tape—”

“The audition tape is crap!” Shamiyah glared at

her, sounding annoyed that Audra had even both-

ered to mention it. “We can’t use that!”

“Crap? Wait just a second,” she muttered, not re-

ally liking Shamiyah as much as she had. “You’ve

spent the past few months telling me how great that

tape was, and now—”

“What’s on the tape is great, but we can’t use it.

The production quality isn’t what I need to make

this show look right. And besides, I need to feature

DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING

193

Dr. Goddard in this episode or she won’t renew

with us for next season.” Her eyes narrowed as

she fixed another determined glance on Audra.

“You were the perfect candidate to put her skills

and abilities to use . . . and what do
you
do? You

stonewalled
—”

“I didn’t
stonewall
—”

“You didn’t tell her anything! You just pulled out

some tired old jokes—”

“Tired?” Anger crept into Audra’s voice. “Whose

jokes are you calling
tired
?”

“Honestly, Audra. I don’t know what kind of mo-

rons you deal with at home, but it’s patently obvious

to everyone
here
”—and the way that she spoke

made it perfectly clear that in her mind, L.A. was

the hub of the civilized world—“that you’re using

humor and fantasy to compensate for what you lack

in self-esteem.”

A vein ticked in Audra’s forehead. “First of all, it

isn’t that obvious, since clearly you had to watch

Dr. Goddard on tape to come up with it,” she told

the girl, hearing her voice rise with her emotions.

“And second, my self-esteem isn’t as low as you

seem to think it is. And last, even I were willing to

put myself out there and discuss my dirty laundry

with the world, what makes you think I’m gonna do

that to my family, huh?”

Shamiyah wagged her kinky-curled head. “I

thought you were ready, Audra. That’s why I lob-

bied so hard for you. I really stuck my neck out, you

know? Put it all on the line with Camilla.” She

paced away from Audra, gathering up her things as

if preparing to leave. “She really didn’t want you on

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Karyn Langhorne

the show. She didn’t think you had what it took. But

I insisted that you did. That you were worth the

thousands of dollars in surgeries and consulta-

tions . . . that you were willing to stand up and be a

real example to millions of women—”

“Shamiyah . . .” Audra sighed. “There are things

here that I’m not sure I want to share with the whole

world—”

“Then why are you here?” Shamiyah snapped, ir-

ritation palpable in her voice.

For an instant the two women stared at each

other: irresistible force and immovable object.

Shamiyah’s face had lost its usual cheerfulness and

in the blank expression she presented, Audra read a

grasping hardness she’d never noticed before. Then,

just as suddenly as she’d glimpsed it, the hardness

was gone. Shamiyah stepped close to Audra and

took her hand. For a second, Audra thought that the

gesture was one of support, one of solidarity, but in-

stead, she studied the skin on the arm carefully,

then lay her own arm beside it, comparing skin

tones.

Audra followed her eyes. When they’d first met,

Audra’s skin had been the color of molasses—deep,

rich and dark—while Shamiyah’s was a tawny red

brown. But now, Audra’s coloring had brightened to

match the girl’s almost exactly. It was the most strik-

ing evidence of the changes the drug had wrought

that Audra had seen, and she stared at the two arms,

as if understanding for the first time the process

she’d set in motion.

“If you’re willing to do
this
,” Shamiyah said, ges-

DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING

195

turing toward their still-touching skin, “then you

sure ought to be willing to tell the world at least

some of the reasons why.” Her eyes found Audra’s.

“Talk to the doc,” she said calmly. “We need that

footage . . . or the audience is just going to decide

you’re some self-hating black woman who wants to

look like a white girl—”

“It’s not going to come across like that!” Audra

exclaimed. “No one’s going to think—”

“They will if you don’t tell your story!” Shamiyah

nearly shouted. “Come
on
, Audra! You know how

sensitive we are about color in the black commu-

nity. If you just show up one color and leave a

different one without saying a word about it, what

else are people gonna think! But”—Shamiyah con-

tinued in a voice that regained its reassuring

calm—“when you tell your story, you come across

differently. You’re . . .” She paused as if gathering

steam to present her argument. “You’re a person

who doesn’t like the hand she was dealt and has de-

cided to use the resources available to change it.

You’re not filled with self-hate. You’re . . . coura-

geous,” she said, nodding as though she heard a